Wheat fields and Warfare
by MountainSound
Summary: A few years after the end of the Dark days, a boy from District 9 finds himself thrown into the Captiol's newest phenomenon, the Hunger Games. The games continue to evolve each year since their creation 3 years earlier and Alec Morro must deal with the realization that very few people back home are cheering for his safe return.
1. The Breadbasket of Panem

**CHAPTER 1**

The sun's orange hue bore down on me as I slowly ran my hands across the heads of wheat that reached just past my waist. The mix of green and golden brown spread out equally in all directions around me as far as my eyes could see. Some people find this landscape boring, I find it impressive. It's almost unbelievable how the earth could be so perfectly flat for so far and I couldn't imagine a sight more beautiful than the one before me now, a wonderful blending of orange sky and golden brown landscape.

"This wheat will be ready to harvest soon Spark, should be a good year for us."

Spark just looks at me with a questioning expression, curios as to why I had mentioned his name. I know that dog probably didn't understand a thing I said, but since my parents had pulled me out of school shortly after the end of the war I hadn't had much in the way of friends. I was only eleven when the war ended four years ago and when classes resumed old friends avoided me and new kids kept away. I wasn't sure why, but dad says it's because the war changed people so I stopped worrying about it.

"It's getting pretty late Spark, we better head home,"

Again with that questioning look! Before heading out I pull my sickle off my belt and gently cut a few wheat heads off their stems and throw them into my back pocket, dad will want to take a look. I make my way out of the field and onto the dry mud path that leads home. It's not too long of a walk and I'm sure Spark enjoys the exercise just as much as I enjoy the solitude and peace these walks afforded us. Tonight will be the last few moments of peace we'll get for some time seeing as how tomorrow is such a big day in District Nine, tomorrow is the day of the reaping. Hunger Games season is upon us.

I walk up to our small wooden cabin located in the sea of golden brown just as the smell of fresh baked bread fills my nostrils. The cabin is small yes, but it's cozy and considering that our first few homes following the war were burnt down by vandals we've discovered that small is better. As far as life in District 9 goes we've got it pretty well, most families cannot afford their own farms and so the fact that we've got such an expansive property is a rarity. My parents were able to purchase it cheaply after the previous owners had been killed during the war and it's been our home ever since.

"There you are Alec, we were worried you'd miss dinner," my mom said as I walked through the rickety screen door.

"Spark and I were just checkin' the condition of the wheat crop this year," I say back as I pull a hot loaf of bread off the kitchen tray.

"And how's it lookin' son?" my dad who is already sitting at the table asks.

"Take a look for yourself Pa'" I respond throwing the few heads I had cut earlier onto the table, "I reckon we can start harvest in three weeks or so, most of the green stems seem to have matured already."

"That's great to hear, we've got a good crop this year and I'm sure the boys in town will appreciate being hired so early in the season for work," he says as his strong jaw pierces into a bread loaf of his own, then as his mouth is filled to the brim he adds, "I just hope the damn reapin' doesn't take any of them away from us this year. We'll need all the help we can get and we have a hard enough time getting folks to help us as it is,"

"What do you think my chances of being called tomorrow are? My name is in there a lot," I say keeping the subject of the reaping in the forefront, the mood of the room suddenly gets much more serious and I catch my mother shooting a concerned look at my father from across the kitchen. Somberly he says,

"You're sixteen now son, so your name is in their much more than we'd like. But you're a strong kid and we need you here on the farm, I'm sure the Capitol knows that. Besides we gave up enough during the war as it is, your name won't be called, I'm sure of it,"

An eerie silence fills the room and I wish I hadn't asked the question. The war was something we never talked about in our household, it had changed people. The concept of the Hunger Games was also still hard for the people of District 9 to grasp. This would be the fourth year they occurred and each year seemed to be more brutal than the previous as the games have evolved more and more throughout the years. Some people believe the games are a temporary sensation that will be abolished once the Capitol deems any inklings of underlying resistance within the hearts of the district populations is officially destroyed, others rumor the games will be here to stay.

I've never personally known any of the tributes sent from District 9 (although I saw a few of them at school before I was pulled out) but that hasn't seemed to make watching them get slaughtered on television any less gut-wrenching or surreal and reaping day has become what is now the first day of what has become a yearly death march as District 9 has yet to submit a winner.

Year 1: Darrin Flamm (who was 13) and Jessica Thompson (who was 16) were reaped in what the Capitol touted as the great new event of our time that would remind the Districts that the war was our fault and a price would have to be paid for our transgressions. Many people didn't know what to expect and a few days later we watched a recap of the reaping in each district followed by Darrin and Jessica being lead into a massive circular arena filled with nothing more than dirt and grass along with 22 tributes from other districts. The names of each tribute and their district were read to the audience along with the rules. These tributes would fight to the death with the weapons provided and that only the winner would be permitted to leave. Shortly thereafter a buzzer signaled the officially start of the 1st ever Hunger Games and surprisingly the tributes went at it. The arena was small with nowhere to hide and the bloodshed was over in a matter of hours. Neither Darrin nor Jessica made it past the first 25 minutes. Xavier Lawrence, the son of a slain rebellion leader from District 2 became the first ever winner along with being that years only volunteer tribute.

Year 2: The rising platforms, cornucopia, and greatly expanded arena that boasted a variety of terrain was introduced to the games in what the Capitol hoped would "make the Hunger Games both a test of combat and survival skills that would also increase the length of the time the games took to complete ensuring the most overall capable competitor wins." We sent Yoni Westly (age 17) and Brittany Dores (age 14) that year, Yoni fell fighting at the Cornucopia within the first two minutes but Brittany ran off without attempting to gain any supplies and managed to survive almost two full days before dehydration caused her to collapse as the vast amounts of salt water in the arena had made drinkable sources difficult to find. She died a few hours later when another tribute discovered her near-lifeless body and slit her throat for good measure. The winner that year was the boy from district four.

Year 3: Another poor showing for district 9 as neither tribute made it out of the cornucopian blood bath. Pre-game interviews with the tributes along with the chariot parade through the Capitol were conducted for the first time last year and the Victor's villages were also built in each of the districts to house current and future victors although I don't see how all the luxurious houses could ever be filled. The arena was a luscious forest that I could have never imagined and many of the tributes who found themselves still alive after the bloodbath were eventually killed off by the exotic animals within the arena. It was the first (and so far only) time we saw tributes team up and form alliances with one another which proved crucial as the 4 person team made up of a tribute from district two, four, and the two tributes from district one ended up becoming the final four candidates who then turned on each other in the most spectacular sequence of violence the games have yet seen. District two crowned its second victor and the Games' first female champion, Monica Kyte.

Tomorrow will mark the beginning of year 4 of these games and undoubtedly the Capitol will announce another round of new additions to the games in order to make them more spectacular and "enjoyable" than the last. Tomorrow two more kids from District 9 will be marching to their death.

"What about me dad? Can I get picked?" the voice of my 7-year old sister Susan snaps me out of my deep thought and quickly eliminates the silence that had filled the room and replaces it with smiles.

"No silly," my dad warmly smiles at her, "you're far too beautiful to be picked, the crops wouldn't grow if they thought you left to go visit the Capitol!"

I can't help but smile at his response, always protecting her from the harshness of our world. Always protecting all of us, even during the war I had never felt endangered and life within our refugee camp had been fairly comfortable even though he was rarely around. Maybe I had been too young to realize the reality of what was going on back then, but somehow dad had gotten us out of the war in better shape than where we were when it had started.

I finish up my bread and scarf down my share of the vegetable rations while making sure to save enough for Spark as his small, skinny frame needed all the help it could get. I excuse myself from the table and take Spark's share of the food to my room where he's patiently wagging his tail.

"There you go Spark,"

"That dog just won't get fatter will he," the voice of my mother makes me jump as I turn to see her.

"Sorry mom I know you don't like him in the house but he just seems to like it in here so much more than the shed outside, he helps me sleep," I say pleadingly without letting her say otherwise.

"Go ahead and get to bed both of you," she says, "it's a big day tomorrow so don't let it keep you up. You've been through these reapings three times already now and been fine, I'm sure tomorrow will be no different. Night Alec,"

"I know Mom, I'm fine thanks, goodnight," I say thrilled with the little victory Spark and I just achieved, "get into bed buddy," I say to him which I swear he definitely understands and the two of us snuggle up together and slowly drift to sleep surrounded by the expansive wheat fields of district 9, the looming reaping somehow manages to remain far from my thoughts.

**CHAPTER 2**

Today is a very hot day and after standing here amongst the other youth of district 9 for what has already been an hour waiting for the proceedings to get underway I've found the undershirt I'm wearing to be incapable of keeping the sweat from seeping into my good collared shirt. My glasses regularly slide down my nose and I find myself constantly having to adjust them.

The Capitol's representative to District 9 appears to be late or something because the last of the potential tributes trickled into their respective age columns twenty minutes ago and the anxiousness of everyone is easily felt in the air. I look around for a friendly face I might know, anyone who might be up for some small talk as we wait but my attempts fail. Everyone seems to almost avoid my eyes as I glance around, oh how it would be nice to have Spark at my side right now, at least then I wouldn't feel so alone in this crowd.

"Hello District 9!" The deep booming voice immediately grabs my attention and I swivel my head quickly towards the stage in front of town hall. A large fat man with an impressively styled beard stands at the microphone. In his younger years he probably could have been a prime athletic specimen but the Capitol lifestyle has taken a toll on his weight, not to mention his strange beard.

"I am Wez Hufferjaw, and I am honored to be your new representative from the Capitol! To say I look forward to developing a wonderful relationship with your district over the next few years is an understatement, for you are the breadbasket of our nation, the providers of Panem! Now let us proceed with the reason I am here,"

His love for our district makes sense considering the amount of bread he must consume to maintain that gut probably took two whole farms to produce. Meanwhile the crowd remains completely silent as we all maintain eye contact with the stage.

"Now before I go about selecting the young man and woman who will honorably represent this glorious district in the 4th annual Hunger Games I have some exciting new changes to announce!"

Quickly my mind begins to race, this is it, the next round of "improvements" that have been designed to make the games more spectacular and brutal are about to be announced, what could they be this year? I try to think of possibilities but my mind is unable to create any on the spot, what could they possibly want to add to the games?

"This year, for the first time ever," Wez booms, "the tributes from Districts who have provided a past winner will receive the services of these past victors as personal mentors in order to better prepare them for their participation in the games. In addition these mentors can provide assistance to their tributes throughout the course of the games by sending them gifts that can be purchased by fans residing in the Capitol!"

The reality of this statement sinks in. Past winners as mentors? The implication is clear, District 9 has no past winners whereas District 2 already has two! Such an addition overwhelmingly favors the tributes from districts 2 and 4 and puts everyone else at a massive disadvantage. Who will send us our gifts if only the mentor could do so? Who will prepare our tributes for their imminent death? No one. District 9 will have no one. I look around to see if anyone else has come to this realization but find nothing but blank stares focused on the stage. Am I the only one? Surely I can't be, someone else must get what this means.

"Now before you all rush to conclusions," Wez again booms into the microphone, "the Capitol is well aware that at this point in time most Districts do not possess a previous victor to act as their mentor. In order to keep those districts from being at a gross disadvantage, our President in his glorious wisdom has authorized the Games Committee to provide each of these districts with one mentor from the Capitol with previous combat experience until these districts have crowned a victor of their own."

My anger slowly subsides, I reacted too quickly in my assumptions. District 9 will get a mentor after all, even if it is probably someone who killed District citizens during the war it is better than no mentor at all.

"Those are all the new additions to announce, on to the big moment of selection!" Wez says with ever-increasing excitement, "first the girls."

The container filled with the names of District 9's girls is wheeled into place and Wez plunges his meaty fingers into the paper oasis of names. Silence somehow becomes even more silent as he unfolds the small sheet in front of himself and looks it over. The tribute has been selected and for this brief moment only he knows who it is, for these last few seconds someone is unknowingly watching their own life end before their eyes. Wez coughs a few times and yells,

"Arielle Rochester!"

Sobs begin to break out amongst the crowd immediately. The name is well known in District 9.

The Rochester family were some of District 9's most visible leaders during the Rebellion with Arielle's uncle being the outright head of District 9's rebel forces. He was killed mid-way through the war along with several of her cousins and 47 more of District 9's best soldiers in a suicidal defensive stand that prevented the Capitol advance into District 9 just long enough to allow the town's evacuation into the surrounding countryside. The sacrifice of those soldiers singlehandedly kept District 9 in the war and allowed rebel forces to regroup safely and develop an underground guerilla network which became one of the Rebellion's most successful in all of Panem. Arielle's parents headed the underground supply line operation which kept District 9's refugees fed and were immediately executed upon their capture near the end of the war. Their death marked the beginning of the unraveling of District 9's resistance and subsequent defeat one month later.

Today the Rochester family are regarded as heroes, Arielle being the only member of the family tree still alive after the war (she was just a child and therefore not involved in rebel activities) was essentially adopted by the entire district and has been cared for by the people ever since. Now at age fifteen she has been chosen to fight to the death. It seems almost like too convenient of a coincidence…

Sobs can be heard continuing to break out within the surrounding crowd as Arielle holds her head up tall, her beautiful red hair braided and her face stern as she walks towards the stage.

District 9 has just lost the closest thing we had to a princess.

"Now on to the men!" Wez shouts once again. The word 'men' is a funny one to use considering most of those eligible are nothing more than children. The sobs gradually quiet into whimpers for the moment and all the boys in my group focus intently on the hand rummaging around in the bowl that contains their names, hoping their slip is difficult to reach.

"To accompany Ms. Rochester in this year's Hunger Games, I present this year's male tribute to be:"

I can hear the blood pumping through my ears as I wait to hear what name is called.

"Alec Morro!" booms through the speakers surrounding the square. Immediately I begin scanning the crowd to locate the poor soul whose death has just been announced, rapidly I glance from blank face to blank face until I realize:

Everyone is looking at me. My name Alec Morro, I have just been marked for slaughter.

The eyes that so dedicatedly avoided my glances earlier now penetrate much like they did at school after the war, gasps and murmurs break out around me and a Peacekeeper forcibly grabs me by the arm and pulls me in the direction of the stage.

I feel dizzy but my feet scrape along the gravel square as if beyond my control, three years I've watched people walk up to this stage never thinking it possibly could be me one day, the odds we're too small I always told myself. But today it appears they were not in my favor.

As I make my way towards Arielle on stage, she greets me with nothing but a cold, penetrating look. As if anger is slowly consuming her from the inside. It's understandable since we've both just been picked for a game we never wanted to play and while anger is not my emotion of choice for this moment, perhaps it works for her. Wez says something to me as he shakes my hand but I don't hear it, I just stare back at those cold green eyes that refuse to relent. The murmurs and sobs continue until they are overpowered by Wez's voice for one final time as he proclaims,

"Ladies and gentleman of District 9, here are your tributes!"

And with that he raises our arms victoriously into the air and leads us into city hall followed by numerous Peacekeepers and local town officials, the large wooden doors covered in wheat-inspired carvings slam behind us and the never-ending expanse of perfectly flat earth disappears with it.


	2. Heroes and Traitors

Sitting alone in one of the small farewell rooms located within City Hall I slowly begin to hear my dad's booming voice echoing through the halls, anger and desperation is heard in his shouts but are difficult to make out entirely.

"I REFUSE TO BE IGNORED," I hear him screaming.

"AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE, I WILL SPEAK TO SOMEONE IN CHARGE!" His voice is rapidly approaching the door and suddenly the door swings open and he comes crashing in thanks to an aggressive shove from a pair of Peacemakers.

"You have five minutes," one of them says coldly. My Dad jumps to his feet and turns to yell one more thing but the door slams in his face before he can get the words out and he restrains himself. After a moment of silence he leans himself up against the door and slumps down to the floor breathing heavily.

We just sit there in silence staring at each other, the sweat covering his face.

"Alec, I'm sorry," he says somberly.

I'm still too wrapped up in emotions of fear and disbelief to say anything back so I just stare back into those warm eyes, that for the first time in my life, will be unable to keep me safe.

"Now things change with these games every year," he continues, "you don't know, perhaops it'll give you an advantage over the others. So just be the smart kid that you are, be resourceful, use your talents," the words are meant to encourage but they come out so hollowly that it's obvious he knows what this current situation really means. I will not be coming home.

"Use that mentor, hopefully they've gotten someone good for you, and by all means always keep your head up," he continues to act like there's a legitimate chance, he's still trying to protect me from what is now beyond his control. I can see him desperately fumbling for words, ideas, anything that might be comforting to himself and me. But it's silly to play this game anymore.

"Dad stop," I croak. And just like that he's got me in his arms, this giant man I call my father able to hold his sixteen year old son as if he were still four. The hug is so tight that I can hardly breathe, but I wouldn't want it any other way.

"Thanks for everything," I whimper into his ear trying to hold myself together, and just like that time is up. A peacekeeper opens the door and pulls my father from me. He's regained his composure now and the possibility of him shedding a tear like I thought he might do when he first arrived has disappeared. He takes one good hard look at me as he backs out the door and says without any hint of emotion,

"I'll see you when you come home," and then the door closes behind him and I am alone again.

My mother and sister stop by with Spark shortly after my father does to exchange their own good-byes. My mother cannot control her tears and I constantly try to comfort her by reminding her that I'm not exactly dead yet while my sister just seems excited by the prospect that I'll be on tv tonight. I think she understands that what's happening is sad and serious but the reality of how severe it actually is probably goes beyond what my parents have revealed to her. I give Spark one final hug and soon the peacekeepers come for them as well.

I spend another whole hour in the waiting room alone, surely it is because the peacekeepers are waiting for the large group of people who are trying to say good-bye to Arielle to clear out so I occupy my time by trying to figure out the advantages I bring to the arena.

Asides from being healthy and moderately well-fed I can't think of many. My survival skills have never really been developed and asides from a few snakes in the wheat fields I've killed practically nothing in my lifetime. This brings me to the issue of weaponry, once again I find myself unsure of my abilities. Sure I'm fairly skilled with a sickle seeing as how I've used one in the fields almost every day but sickles aren't exactly weapons that have been found in the arena in years past. My best hope is that my ability to handle a sickle translates well into handling a sword, axe, or other bladed weapon of some kind.

Finally a peacekeeper arrives to escort me towards the train and we meet up with Arielle's armed escorts and make our way towards the train station. Arielle for the most part seems to ignore my presence but it may have to do with the overwhelming crowd that is showering her with harvested grain (It is a sign of great respect in our District, to throw one's own valuable grain at another) and calls for attention as we make our way to the station. I seem to be largely ignored by the crowd but some of the tossed grain does find its way into my hair as we walk due to my close proximity to Arielle. Arielle walks strong and stoically towards the train and I do my best to do the same seeing as how this will be broadcast to all the Districts later on tonight and with the limited skills I have the last thing I can do is appear weak. As we board the train Arielle turns to the crowd and throws her fist into the air powerfully and the crowd nearly loses it, even in her final moments of life in District 9, our district's princess remains strong and defiant.

We walk into the main train car escorted by Wez and the door slides shut behind us immediately eliminating all the sound from outside. We fin ourselves in a beautifully decorated train car complete with a large television and massive dining table covered in a variety of foods and dishes I can't even begin to comprehend. At the table sits a broad shouldered, muscular man with a distinctive scar down the left side of his face. Asides from that he is dressed in a fairly normal manner and doesn't seem to be cut from the same cloth as the rest of the Capitol citizens I've seen.

"Why don't you both get comfortable, we've got a bit of a trip to the Capitol and this train's got plenty of food on it to enjoy," Wez chuckles and I take a place at the table across from the broad shouldered gentleman as Arielle places herself on a couch by the window so that she can wave to the adoring crowd as the train begins to make its way out of the station. I'm not sure what to make of it all, should I be waving also? For some reason it doesn't seem appropriate for me to do so.

"Samuel Edwin here, but you can call me Sammy," the broad shouldered man sternly announces in my direction, his words catch me by surprise.

"Oh um, Alec Morro," I say back. We both direct our attention towards Arielle waiting for her to introduce herself but she seems intent on remaining silent, "that's Arielle," I add and she shoots a look in my direction as if I've done something wrong.

"Good to know," says Sammy, "just though I'd introduce myself since I'm going to be your mentor for these games. "

"What's your so called 'combat experience'?" Arielle says with a judgemental look on her face, "killing District 9 rebels?" the look she gives him makes me very uncomfortable, why is she already alienating herself from our mentor? Doesn't she understand how much _we're_ going to need his help?

"Not quite," Sammy responds without breaking away from her glare, "I was Capitol Special Forces, so yes many rebels fell at my hand but as far as I can tell none of them were from District 9. In fact this is the first time I've ever been here."

"You're a monster!" Arielle snorts back at him. Still Sammy does not break his gaze and I find myself sitting awkwardly in between the two and feeling as invisible as ever.

"Look young lady," Sammy says raising his voice, "I didn't start that war and it was not something I enjoyed partaking in but I did what was asked of me like so many others did as well. That part of my life is behind me now and my job now is to make sure you have enough of a fighting chance in that arena you're about to enter so that hopefully one of you just might be able to go back home! Now I'm not sure who you both lost during the war but let me assure you that no one came out unscathed including myself," he's full on yelling now, the seriousness of our situation is not lost on him and I feel somewhat relieved. Sammy genuinely seems to be on our team despite the negative first impression we've already given him.

"Alec's family did alright for themselves," she judgingly says towards me. I've gone from feeling invisible to the center of attention so quickly that I can't restrain myself from defensively asking, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on!" Arielle yells, "how do you think your family went from being so poor to the owners of one of the biggest farms in District 9? By winning the lottery?"

"My parents, bought that farm with their own money after the war!" I yell back.

"Is that really what you think? That your family somehow was able to outbid various wealthier families for that farm? _Your dirt-poor family? Really?_" she retorts. I find myself burning up and desperately want to open a window or something, what has brought on this verbal attack? What is she trying to prove?

"My family earned that farm fair and square!" I try to yell back, but I'm choking up and trying to hold back the onset of the tears that are about to emerge. I cannot fathom why she seems to hate me so much and I can't appear weak to my mentor so early on, I can't have him write me off before things even begin.

"YOUR FAMILY EARNED THAT FARM WITH THE BLOOD OF DISTRICT 9 ALL OVER YOUR HANDS!" the look of her bright red face combined with her fire-red hair has transformed her from a beautiful girl to almost demonic looking villain. Sammy sits silently watching our interaction pan out.

"You really have no idea do you?" she adds, slowly calming herself down, "you have no idea about your father giving away rebel secrets to the Capitol throughout the war? How he started telling them where the ambushes would be just as we were on the verge of victory. How he gave them reports on rebel supplies and morale? All in exchange for Capitol money and security! You have no idea how he told them about the secret meeting my parents were going to when they were captured! THE CAPTURE THAT GOT THEM KILLED! No… Your family didn't lose anything during the war, but you sure as hell sacrificed a lot of District 9 to gain what you got and the whole district knows about it. So stop lying to yourself, I'll be in my room if anyone needs me," and with that she turns and storms out of the room towards her quarters.

I sit in my chair at a loss for words, the room almost feels like its spinning as I begin to make sense of everything she just spewed at me. Could it all be true? Is the father I always viewed as the most noble of people actually the biggest traitor in our District's history? Or is it just part of her strategy to win the games? To mentally rattle me this way? I begin to think of all the friends who stopped being my friends after the war, all the angry mobs that burned down our houses multiple times, how my dad always claimed it was because the war had simply "changed people," how we almost never went into town, how we could only get the most desperate of farmhands to help us with our harvest each year, the things he was yelling as he barreled down the hall to say good-bye earlier, how he was always so certain my name would never be picked. No, Arielle Rochester was telling nothing but the truth.

I bury my head into my shoulder as I can't quite seem to hold the tears back anymore, it's a pathetic site really, a boy my age crying in front of a hardened war veteran but at the moment I am beyond caring. I come to the realization that for this year's annual Hunger Games, District 9 is sending the daughter of its greatest hero to fight to the death against the son of its greatest traitor.

It couldn't be more obvious who they'll be rooting for.


End file.
